Paasuram #3: Kodai explains the footprint of Trivikrama
The third day of Margali dawned not with a dry chill, but with a moist, pregnant atmosphere. The air felt heavy with the promise of water, even though the sky was a clear, sapphire blue. In the village of Srivilliputtur, something was shifting. The very earth seemed to be expanding, mimicking the ancient story of the Lord who became the universe.
Kodai stood at the edge of the village, where the homes gave way to the vast expanse of the paddy fields. Her friends, their hair still damp from the pre-dawn bath and their foreheads marked with the sacred white clay, stood around her. They were tired from the previous day’s fast, yet there was a luminosity in their eyes that defied physical exhaustion.
The Mystery of the Growing Lord
"Look at the fields," Kodai whispered, her voice carrying a weight that made the girls go still. "Do you see how the red paddy stalks stand tall? They are not just plants, they are reaching upward, trying to touch the feet of the One who measured the world."
Dharini narrowed her eyes, looking at the swaying stalks. "They seem taller than they were yesterday, Kodai. Is it the mist, or is the land truly rising?"
"It is both," Kodai replied. "When we sing the name of Him, Ongi Ulagalantha Utthaman, the One who grew into the sky as Trivikrama, the earth itself remembers that touch. Do you remember the Puranas? When the Lord came as a small dwarf, a Vamana, He seemed insignificant. But when He took His three steps, He measured the earth, the heavens, and the very heads of the ego-driven. By singing His praise today, we are asking Him to step into our lives with that same majestic expansion."
The Miracle of the Three Rains
As they walked through the narrow bunds of the fields, a farmer named Maruthan approached them. He was a man of the soil, his face etched with the lines of many seasons. He looked at the girls with a mixture of reverence and confusion.
"Little mother," Maruthan said, addressing Kodai. "I have lived seventy years, but I have never seen the 'Three Rains' fall as they have since you began your song. One rain for the mountains to fill the rivers, one rain for the forests to keep the air sweet, and one rain for our fields to nourish the grain. The water arrives exactly when the sun sleeps, and by dawn, the soil is perfect. What magic is this?"
Kodai laughed, a sound like temple bells. "It is no sorcery, Maruthan. It is the way that nature replies when we respect it. When the human heart is in rhythm with Narayana, the clouds have no choice but to help us. Nature is but a mirror of our devotion. Because these girls have denied themselves the 'tasty ghee' and the 'health-giving milk' for the sake of the Pavai, the Lord provides for the whole world. Our sacrifice is the seed, this rain is the fruit."
The Drunken Bees and the Dancing Fish
They stopped by a deep pond fed by a canal from the river. The water was so clear it looked like liquid glass. Beneath the surface, silver-scaled fish darted to and fro, leaping occasionally as if they were performing a nritya (dance) for an invisible audience.
"Look," Neela pointed out. "The fish are playing in the shadows of the paddy. They are not afraid of us."
"Why should they fear?" Kodai asked. "In this month of Margali, the peace of the Lord descends even into the depths of the water. Even the predators forget their hunger. And look there, at the lotuses."
On a large, sun-drenched lotus, a spotted bee was clumsily trying to find its way. It was heavy, its wings coated in golden pollen and its belly distended with nectar. Instead of flying away, the bee simply crawled into the heart of the flower and folded its wings.
"He is drunk on the sweetness," Dharini chuckled.
"He is us," Kodai said solemnly. "The bee has sipped the honey of the Lord's name until he can no longer fly. He has found his home in the flower, just as we seek our home in the feet of the Lord. He sleeps in the very source of his nourishment. That, my sisters, is the state of a soul that has found Narayana. We no longer need to wander, the flower we inhabit is the Lord Himself."
The Overflowing Pails
They continued toward the Goshala, the great cow-sheds of the settlement. The sound of milk hitting brass pails was like a rhythmic drumbeat. But something was different. The milkers were struggling to keep up.
The cows stood tall, their udders heavy and immense. As the milkers' hands moved, the milk flowed in a ceaseless, frothing stream. It did not just fill the pails, it overflowed, spilling onto the earthen floor, turning the dust into a milky paste.
"The pails are never enough!" one of the cowherds cried out, his face beaming. "These cows are giving as if the Milky Ocean itself has moved into their veins!"
Kodai approached a large, white cow and stroked her neck. "This is the 'never-diminishing wealth' I promised you. When we worship the Pavai, we are not just asking for enough to survive. We are asking for the abundance of the Divine. See how she gives? She does not hold back a drop. This is how the Lord gives to us, without measure, without calculation."
The Surreal Vision: Trivikrama Appears
As the sun reached its zenith, the heat did not feel oppressive; it felt like a golden cloak. Kodai led the girls back to the temple steps. As they stood there, the atmosphere shifted into the spiritual realm that often visited Srivilliputtur during Kodai's prayers.
The sky seemed to stretch. The clouds moved with an unnatural speed, forming the shape of a giant leg spanning the horizon. The girls gasped. For a fleeting moment, the veil between the world of matter and the world of spirit thinned to a transparent film.
They saw Him, not as a statue in the sanctum, but as the Vast Being. One foot was planted firmly on the red earth of their village, and the other was disappearing into the blinding light of the highest heavens. The sound of the wind transformed into the deep, resonant vibration of a conch.
"He is measuring us," Kodai cried out, her arms outstretched. "He is measuring our sincerity! Do not be afraid of His size. To the ego, He is a giant to be feared. To the devotee, He is the father whose lap is the entire universe."
The vision lasted only a heartbeat, but it changed the girls forever. The weariness of their fast vanished. They realized that their small acts, avoiding the kajal, giving alms, bathing in the cold, were being recorded in the giant ledger of the stars.
The Discussion: The Purpose of Prosperity
Later that evening, as they sat in the temple courtyard under the shade of a flowering Magizham tree, the girls discussed the day’s events.
"Why does He give us so much paddy and milk, Kodai?" Neela asked. "If we are seeking the spirit, why does the material world become so rich?"
Kodai’s father, Vishnuchitta, walked past them, carrying a garland of Tulasi. He paused, his eyes twinkling with the wisdom of a man who spoke to God. "Daughter," he said to Neela, "the Lord is not a miser. He does not want His devotees to be beggars. He gives prosperity so that we are free from the anxiety of the stomach. When the belly is full and the land is at peace, the mind is free to soar toward Him. This wealth is not for greed; it is the foundation upon which the temple of the soul is built."
Kodai nodded. "And it is a sign. When the world is healthy, we know our Vratham is being accepted. If the land were dry and the cows were thin, it would mean our hearts are still hard. The fatness of the cows and the height of the paddy are simply the Lord's way of saying, 'I am pleased with your song.'"
The Closing of the Third Day
The sun set, painting the gopurams in hues of violet and gold. The girls prepared for the night, their minds filled with images of giant footsteps and sleeping bees. They were no longer just performing a ritual, they were participating in a cosmic event.
"Tomorrow," Kodai said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we speak to the clouds themselves. We will ask the rain-god to be our messenger. But for tonight, remember the bee. Sleep in the flower of His grace. Let the abundance of this land remind you that you serve a Master who owns the sun and the moon, yet finds His greatest joy in a small song sung by girls like us."
The village of Srivilliputtur fell into a deep, blessed slumber. The red paddy continued to grow in the dark, and the fish continued their silent dance in the moonlit pools, all waiting for the next prayer of the girl who would become a Goddess.
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